Do you have 2.5 minutes to spare today?
Then please watch the following video. Not only do I believe in the cause it shares, I love the way it is presented. Plus my little sis has put in hours and hours and hours to hand draw, trace, photograph and present this little 2.5 minute video to you.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

I am the oldest of three girls. I did not grow up watching the antics and stunts of little boys, although I vaguely remember the rumblings. I had exposure to boy cousins (that are still some of my closest friends today). I remember a few run ins with neighborhood boys and boys at school, but overall my interactions were limited. I heard stories about the boys I knew, but they rarely acted "that way" around me.

When I got married I heard even more stories. My husband's boyhood escapades are very entertaining and I've heard them many, many times. Especially when he is surrounded by his childhood friends. So when I found out we would be having not one, but two boys at once it was more than a little intimidating.

As our boys started to grow, I began to hear more "rumblings" from other moms. The "boys will be boys" kind of stories filled with close calls and broken limbs. Most of them innocent in nature, but dangerous none-the-less.

Yesterday we had one of our own stories to add to the overflowing pot. Minor in danger and risk, but its a start.

I missed the actual event, although Kory saw it happen. I'm still not sure of all the details, but as best I can tell the boys decided to push their race car up the slide so it could "get worked on." While one of them was holding it at the top, the other climbed in. That's when the one doing the holding decided to let go. He says it was hurting his foot.

The result of letting go was the car and driver shooting backwards down the slide, flipping over backwards and spilling its surprised contents into the yard.

Tears came for a minute, until the boy at the top of the slide started laughing. In his words it was "hysterical." It didn't take long for the stunt driver to join in.

We laughed over the story at supper, although the driver did not laugh as hard as the rest of us, the sheepish look never completely leaving his face. If you looked close, however, you could see a glint of pride at having carried out the ride successfully, even if it was unintentional. His brother thought it was the "best X games stunt ever." That helped too.

We'll see how long this stunt lasts at the top of their list. I may or may not have seen them carrying a scooter up the big slide after supper...

It's true you know, boys will be boys.

I know you've got your own boy stories, I'd love to hear them in the comments!

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Usually Mya gets picked near the end. She doesn't mind, except that when you get picked first you get to kick first. A definite advantage when your recess time is limited.

I like to be picked too.

A friend of mine is advocating for a little girl in China who has a severe heart issue. She is a beautiful little girl who has not been picked, when being picked really matters. It is hard not to ask why? Why are some kids picked and others left behind?

Logically I know it is one more ugly result of living in a fallen world. People make wrong choices. They choose to serve themselves instead of their Creator and the result is a messed-up, hurt-filled world.

I know the Creator has not abandoned us. He gives us a way out. He gives us grace and if we accept his gift he lets us partner with Him and redeem some of the ugly.

This knowledge doesn't take the hurt out of the question. I don't know if anything will. But I know He cares and because He cares He calls us to act and be His hands and feet.

I want to ask you to pray for JiaYi, the little girl I mentioned above who needs a family. Pray for healing and pray that she gets picked.

Also, I want to mention that Orphan Sunday is November 7th this year. If your church has never participated in this nationwide event, maybe you can give them a little push in that direction. It is a great way to raise awareness and help for the orphan. Go here for resources and ideas!

"Sometimes I would like to ask God why He allows poverty, suffering, and injustice when He could do something about it.""Well, why don't you ask Him?""Because I am afraid He would ask me the same question."-Anonymous

Monday, October 11, 2010

Sometimes you miss the backdrop of your story because the plot is moving too fast.

On my way home tonight, I took in the fields as they were stripped of their bounty by hungry combine monsters. Seeing tall stalks of corn turn into flat farmland as they mow down the fields always amazes me.

Once their job is complete and the fields are empty, you can once again see houses and silos dotting the terrain. Mile after mile they stand, no longer hidden by the growing corn.

To ease the embarrassment of the naked land, the trees begin to display their glory. Drawing eyes to the orange, red and yellow that start to emerge and take over the green of summer. Today they were still unsure if Fall is really on its way. A few days of Indian Summer confused them leaving pops of red amidst the remaining summer leaves.

This is the setting of my story today.

Driving Suhn home from PT tonight, taking in the scenery, my thoughts drifted back to a group of people who shared our story for a brief space of time on the other side of the world. I remember parts of the backdrop of that story. Mainly, I remember the plot and the characters.

I thought about our gotcha day, the chaos of the moment. Fifteen babies meeting their parents for the first time, everyone helping everyone record the momentous occasion. Over the two weeks that followed we laughed, celebrated, cried and prayed together.

And then we went home.

To different backdrops.

To continue our stories.

Separately.

I miss them. And while I have to be content with following their stories from afar for now, I hope that our paths will intersect again and we can take in the scenery of another place and share another moment together before too much time gets in the way.

Regardless of what direction it goes, when I compare I find myself discontent and lacking peace.

You'd think I would learn or that the battle would get easier. It doesn't seem to. The thoughts creep in, sometimes I dwell on them, sometimes I argue with them, sometimes I pray for grace to expel them.

I have a sinking feeling that it will always be a battle. It is the nature of life on earth. The thoughts will continue to come, and I will either fight them or allow them to rank me, measuring myself against an inaccurate standard. Until I remember, via a holy prompting, to stop and raise the battle cry once again.